Walking Mistake
by Mr. Irony
Summary: He can dodge bullets, see the future, and understand the Matrix for what it is... is he the One? ... Nope.


Dressed in a leather trenchcoat with shades, Morpheus looked exactly like a drug pusher. This image was further enhanced when he offered me two different pills, one blue, one red.  
  
I was warned about you, I told him when we first met.  
  
"What you have been told about me is irrelevant," he replied, as if he didn't matter. "What's important is what I have to show you."  
  
You can show me the way out, is what you can do.  
  
Okay, I didn't say that, but I should've. Everything in my body and mind was screaming that something big was gonna happen, that if I wasn't careful, things would never be the same again. I knew that this guy was linked to that somehow.  
  
"You take the blue pill, and this meeting never happened. You wake up and the dream fades away, like all the others," he said, opening his palm to reveal the little blue capsule. "You take the red pill, and you find out that this meeting never really happened. You wake up but the dream doesn't fade away like the others."  
  
He held the two pills in front of me, waiting. I guess he really thought I was going to take one of them and become addicted to whatever newfangled crack they'd developed on the streets. Who did this guy take me for?  
  
"You are addicted to something far worse than any drug."  
  
Yeah, right. You're gonna talk about the monotony of the rat race and all that crap.  
  
"No. I speak of the Matrix."  
  
Aw Jesus, not this again. Look, I ain't interested in your Matrix or your games or whatever drugs you gotta offer. I got enough psychedelics in my life already, okay?  
  
"Even if these were mere hallucigenics, they would pale in comparison to the visions you've been having recently."  
  
Shit. He knows about the visions.  
  
Look, I ain't takin' the blue or the red. I'm going home, and tomorrow I'm going back to work. I have a couple of payments left on the car, and I'm really gettin' close to gettin' Mary's phone number so we can go out and have ourselves a nice time, okay?  
  
I think I might've offended him with that. He frowns at me, and suddenly I realize I just pissed off a guy who's been called "The most dangerous man alive" by the FBI.  
  
I know 'cause they told me in person. They brought me in downtown and everything and I had a little one-on-one with Mr. Smith. They were a little cold and methodical for my tastes, but they were decent guys. Way more favourable than this guy, anyway.  
  
But the truth is, I've had enough of this shit. I don't know what the hell is going on, and I don't want to know. I just want everything to go back to normal, to before I started having visions.  
  
So here I am, bein' offered drugs by the most dangerous man alive, who could probably kill me in a second if he wanted, and I'm telling him to fuck off and leave me alone. I mean, once him and his little posse of skin- tight leather-clad followers quite buggin' me, then those damn annoying FBI agents'll stop botherin' me wherever I go.  
  
All of a sudden, I get hit with another muscle spasm. He jumps back and pulls a goddamn gun on me!  
  
I struggle with it for a couple of seconds, trying to get my nerves back.  
  
I really hate these. And it only happens when I'm around these freaks. It's like something inside me's trying to bust out, and my whole body seizes up. For the time it lasts, I can't move or breathe or speak, but it doesn't really hurt.  
  
Anyway, they never last more than two seconds.  
  
When I come to, he's still standing there staring at me, gun raised and ready to blow my goddamn brains out. I figure if he wanted to kill me, he'd've done it already.  
  
Maybe that's why I ain't crappin' my pants in fear.  
  
It's a medical condition, I tell 'im.  
  
He doesn't believe me. He doesn't say so, but I can tell by the way he's lookin' at me, all slack-jawed and wide-eyed.  
  
"You can resist them," he says to himself like I ain't there.  
  
Look, I told you, it's a medical condition. Doctor says I'm under too much stress lately, and that's understandable what with you people chasin' me around and gettin' the FBI involved in my life and all.  
  
"You are the One," he tells me.  
  
I give off one of those nervous laughs like when your niece asks you where babies come from. I know when it's my cue to leave.  
  
Look, pal, thanks for the offers and stuff, I'm sure it's a great high and all, but I really gotta get going. The FBI'll be here any minute, and I don't want to give them any wrong impressions.  
  
"You alerted the authorities?"  
  
Hey, no offense, but you gotta understand my position. Strangers offerin' me drugs in weird buildings in the dead of night ain't exactly my idea of a safe encounter. I told them I'd be in this neighbourhood, but I didn't tell 'em exactly where.  
  
He takes out his cell phone and calls up the operator.  
  
That's when the agents burst in from behind, guns blazin'.  
  
If I accidentally get killed, I will be seriously pissed. 


End file.
